IT SHOULDN'T HAPPEN
by deetatarant
Summary: It's a Thursday and Ianto is back in the bank.


**AN: A companion piece to my story 'Three Bullets' and the 'Precious Things' series... because I am trying to reignite my brain and my love for Torchwood. Dedicated to 'Solsbury Girl'**

Ianto knew that he shouldn't move. He really wanted to because he hurt and was absolutely certain that his leg was completely dead and not in a nice, pins and needles sort of way. He wanted to see the damage before someone came along and tried to move him, because he didn't want to hurt more than he already did... and now he was just confusing himself. He wanted to move, even an inch would be nice, but he was firmly jammed and in agony. It was dark and he was aware of a great weight on him, which was maybe also why he couldn't move. His ears were... well he felt like he'd been standing in front of the bass bins at a Motorhead concert as the high pitched whining succeeded in blanking out all other sound. So he was still breathing, just. And he could smell the metallic tang of his blood. He was rather glad he couldn't see it. He wondered at this point whether or not he needed to panic. He wanted to panic, to scream and flail about, even if it was a bit girly. Something held him back.

He was annoyed.

The bank, yes the bloody bank and the mile long cue because the cash machines weren't working and he needed money for the petty cash, otherwise his grumbling colleagues would not get their lunch time pizzas. And bloody Jack complaining about the fact they had run out of the Java coffee he drank too much of. Oh and Gwen moaning about the lack of semi skimmed milk or water with whitening in it. Owen complaining that there were no biscuits, bloody Owen and his bloody Hobnobs. The only person who had actually greeted him that morning had been the postman. He was sure Tosh would have, she was always polite like that, but she was having a rare day off.

Now where was he? Oh yes the bank and the petty cash and the fucking great explosion!

He wondered how long he had been there and couldn't decide whether or not he was even conscious and how much the dry cleaning would cost him. Oh yes, and another ruined suit. At least this time it wasn't one of the ones that Jack had bought for him. He remembered the last time he had stood in this bank, someone had shot him at point blank range and ruined his brand new Valentine's present.

It was weird the way Jack made those big romantic gestures and then would go off and shag someone else. Jack was more terrified of actually admitting to any feeling than he was of facing down a dozen weevils in a primary school.

Ianto supposed his eyes were shut as the vision of a dozen weevils in maroon school uniforms began to form. This could only be a dream, surely. Maybe I am going to shock? The thought made him internally shudder if he were this far gone, there wasn't much time left to him.

The darkness encroached him again and Ianto realised he was blinking dust from his eyes, he hissed out his pain and was grateful that now he could actually hear his own voice and the raggedness of his laboured breathing. It was a faintly sickening gurgling sound that he knew full well didn't bode well. His panic hung on the edge of his awareness like a shadow waiting to swallow him up and Ianto gulped it back with gritted teeth.

He really had to get of there... NOW!

And still he couldn't move.

He remembered reading a book once, 'It Shouldn't Happen To A Vet'... well this shouldn't happen to a Torchwood employee... twice in one life, same bank, same day of the week...same shit. He wondered if would die this time. I mean really his nine lives had run out years ago and he wasn't even a cat...Ok now my grammatical line of thinking is going wrong too.

Ianto squeezed his shut and water leaked out from under his dark, dusty lashes. He bit back a sob, because he hurt and finally he was afraid. The tightness of the space, the pain, the smell of blood and the only sound his shallowed stumbling breaths. It was like Canary Wharf all over again as the ceiling had fallen down on him then. But that was just bits and panels and cables and he had been able to clamber out from under his desk. His gut wrenched. He really needed to pee.

Were they under attack?

He strained to hear and suddenly became aware of faint voices. It sounded like a woman crying but he wasn't sure.

Please, please get me out.

Ianto bit at his lip, he didn't want to die like this, alone and afraid. He wanted soft music and Jack's arms around him as he sank away in glorious old age. Who was he kidding?

The air just wasn't finding its way into his lungs. He had an overriding need to pee and tears of shame flooded down his face when he could no longer hold on. That was it then.

TWTWTW

Jack dumped the file down on his desk and leapt to his feet. He was damned thirsty and Ianto still wasn't back with the coffee. The Welshman had left the Hub grumbling about lazy good for nothing, why can't you all just cope for one day with instant... Ianto had really been in a bad mood when he left. Jack half wondered if the younger man were having a period...Oh no... wrong century for that. He sauntered out of his office, flirted with Gwen and then went down to the den of Owen's domain to annoy him. Owen waved him away with a polite 'fuck off Harkness.', actually the smell of the corpse was incentive enough to leave anyway. He ambled back to Gwen, resting a hand on her shoulder and grinning down at her and the bridal magazine on her lap.

"Chosen your dress yet?"

Gwen smiled up at him and shrugged. "I can't decide, I'm so used to wearing jeans all the time, I've no idea what'll look good on me."

Jack perched his arse on the edge of her desk and folded his arms. "You should ask Ianto, he'll know what'll show off your best attributes." He winked suggestively and Gwen blushed prettily, but held his gaze.

"So what are my best attributes?"

Jack's eyes went down slightly, Gwen followed his gaze and sighed. "Men!"

"What?" Jack asked in mock horror.

"You're not supposed to look at my tits, you're supposed to say something like, the colour of your eyes or softness of your skin... not gawp."

Jack was laughing. "Miss Cooper you have lovely eyes."

She walloped his thigh with her magazine, about to wallop him a second time when her mobile rang. She pulled it out of her handbag.

It was Andy Davidson and sighing she answered the call.

TWTWTWTW

Andy Davidson decided that he really should be used to the strange goings on in Cardiff by now. He'd seen some weird stuff and was used to Torchwood plodding all over the 'spooky dooes', but today in midst of the chaotic aftermath of this explosion they were nowhere in sight. Ok, so a gas main had gone up taking two buildings with it... apparently... Andy was never certain of the things he was told these days except the usual.

Man the police line, keep the press out and let the paramedics and fire brigade through.

Today he'd been promoted to taking the names of the casualties. There it was bloody Torchwood.

Ianto Jones was being stretchered out of the chaos and into the belly of the awaiting air ambulance. It was going to take him to Bristol. Andy pulled out his phone and dialled 1 on his speed dial. Gwen answered him a moment later. He explained and was forced to then hold his phone away from his ear as she squealed at him in shock down the line.

TWTWTWTWTW

Jack drove like his arse was on fire, ignoring every speed restriction and traffic regulation in the book. By the time he got to the hospital, Ianto was in theatre and all he could do was wait and wait and wait.

Time slowed to a crawl and Jack sat as still as a weeping angel, only moving when a uniformed member of staff glided by, ignoring him. It was taking too long and from experience Jack knew that that couldn't be a good thing. He had wanted to bring Owen, but the Hub needed to be staffed in case of an emergency, so he sat there alone.

He felt alone. Too many 'what ifs' suddenly had the time to play on his thoughts. He'd need to replace his administrator, they'd be no more divine coffee, no more out of hours playtime in the hot house, no more... Jack bit that one back. He'd move on easily enough, he always did, had learned to over the years because he had to if he were to remain sane... He'd move on.

Then why was he here? His presence served no purpose.

Jack sighed and got to his feet, he paced the length of the corridor and then traversed it again, back to his seat. He couldn't leave, Ianto would need to know he was close by, watching over him. It was ridiculous to think that it made a difference. Another minute, another two hours...

TWTWTWTWTW

It was a bit hard to think beyond the fog of pain and pain killers, but Ianto opened his eyes anyway. It confused him no end to see a pair of bright blue eyes looking down on him and he half wondered why someone had put a mirror there. But they weren't his eyes, they were too warm and filled with obvious relief and Ianto knew he should be comforted by that and somewhere deep inside he was.


End file.
